Snowflakes are falling like a gift of white. <br />The classic landscape burns incessant, bright. <br />Old panes picture, literally, scores of frost. <br />No single note of music has been lost. <br /> <br />I hold your thoughts across a world of space, <br />Watching the colors dance in my fireplace. <br />Your message came on wings of winter birds, <br />'True poets give themselves away in words.' <br /> <br />Copyright,2008, Sandra Fowler <br /> <br />Published in, 'World Poets Quarterly.China'<br /><br />Sandra Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-count-the-frosts/
